


Son Of Skywalker

by KisaraTheDragonCharm



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Child Luke Skywalker, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KisaraTheDragonCharm/pseuds/KisaraTheDragonCharm
Summary: Just a bunch of Luke & Vader centric One-Shot's I wrote.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala/Darth Vader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 117





	1. 01 Daddy

He watched the boy sleep, his small form was covered in bandages and bacta patches, he looked no younger than 5.

The boy stirred, large blue orbs stared into the artificial red lenses of his mask, his small form shook in fear—grasping the linen sheets close to his chest, if he wasn't so devoid of empathy, he'd almost feel sorry for him.

"W-where am I?" the boy asked, his small voice wavering and large eyes darted around the room frantically—he looked on the verge of tears and cringed every time he heard the incessant rasp of his respirator.

He stared at the boy for a moment, his respirator was the only sound between them. "You are aboard the Executor awaiting passage to the nearest Family Services facility." He explained, the harsh baritone of his voice modulator bellowed.

The boy jumped back at the sound, clutching the thermal blanket closer, he wasn't the first person he'd met who'd reacted in that way, such a voice was so—inhumane, a way for his master dehumanize him some more, take away everything that made him even remotely human in the eyes of others—he wasn't sure whether he liked it better that way or not. "The Executor?" the boy asked.

"A large ship." He clarified, he felt awkward standing here, his seven-foot form looming over the medical bed of a child who looked fresh out it's mother's womb—he was just so small, fragile? He'd slaughtered thousands of children before, many younger than this boy but something about this boy made him feel, almost sorry for him.

The boy seemed to perk up at that, his eyes grew wide in childish wonder "In space!" he exclaimed

He stared at the boy for a moment before replying "Yes."

The boys stare unnerved him slightly, something about his blue eyes were familiar—too familiar, he wondered if he'd possibly killed the boy's father or perhaps known him. "Are you my daddy?" the boy asked, as if reading his mind.

He flinched back from what he'd heard, a father… maybe in another life perhaps, in a life were his wife hadn't forsaken him—chose his best friend over him and turned her back on their little family, perhaps in a life where he wasn't kept awake at night replaying there confrontation in his head, ways he could've made her understand, made her choose him.

He shook his head and buried that thought pattern deep down—he mustn't think on it, this boy needed to learn his place really quickly, he wasn't a father and he most certainly wasn't this child's father, he'd make him understand that regardless of how injured he was right now.

"No!" he hissed back.

The boy flinched back, hiding under his blanket before peeking over the top of it. "I-I'm sorry, Daddy was going to come and get me and take me away from all the bad men." He stuttered back.

He waited for his respirator to catch up before replying "And where is he now?" he enquired.

The boy shook his head "I dunno, but he'll be coming! He will come and kill all the bad men Pow Pow! And take me away on his big ship!" he made a blaster motion with his finger as he explained.

"I see."

The boy settled back down and smiled at him "Does your daddy have a big ship?" he asked.

He wondered how he'd possibly go about explaining midichlorians to a child, or even if he cared enough to—he didn't owe this child anything, if it were anyone else he wouldn't snapped there neck and crushed their windpipe were they stood—so why hadn't he done that to this boy? "I never knew him." He eventually replied.

The boy nodded in understanding "Me neither!" he confessed.

That baffled him, were all children this cryptic? Or was this boy just a special case naivety? "Then how can you be certain he'll come back for you, if you never knew him?" he asked, his annoyance was bubbling.

"Because my heart told me." The boy replied.

He stared at the boy in disbelief, that was the most foolish thing he'd ever heard in his life—this boy was truly naïve and utterly devoid of a brain. "Then you are most foolish." He scolded.

The boy seemed not to hear him "I hoped Daddy would come for me a little sooner though." He confessed, nervously biting his bottom lip.

"He is not coming back for you because he does not care too, cease this foolishness immediately." He snapped back, if the boy was to go to family services, he had to cease this foolish idealistic crusade immediately, it only ever led to suffering.

He bit his lip "Mummy said the same, she said Daddy won't be coming back because Daddy is a horrible bad man." The boy explained

He was silent

The boy stared at him, fiddling with his hands nervously "Is Mummy okay?" he asked.

He was silent for a moment, wondering if he should tell him the truth or not—he was young and orphan, he shouldn't care for this boy at all, he'd only known him a couple of hours yet he felt this fierce paternal need to protect him from danger, protect him from the truth—was it because he reminded him of himself at that age? He did not know, all he knew was that he had to severe this connection immediately, this boy was not his responsibility.

"She is dead." He confessed, his tone blunt and steady.

The boy begun to cry into his hand, he cringed at the sight "Not Mummy! Mummy strong, mummy did horrible bad things with bad men so I would be okay, Mummy got loads of ouchies." The boy cried.

"They are dead also." He replied.

The boy sniffled, snot clung to his face and wet his sleeves. "The bad men?" he asked.

"Yes."

The boy looked down at his lap in shame, his red and puffy eyes were leaking tears—he looked utterly miserable—were children supposed to be miserable? He barely even remembered himself ever being happy as a child. "Mummy said I should not be happy about people dying, but they were nasty to me and Mummy." the boy confessed, his shame evident in his voice.

"So, I have heard." He confessed.

"They did not feed me and hurt me a lot." He mumbled; his self-pity was truly pathetic—that need to stop immediately.

"I do not care for your life story." He replied, his cold tone made ten times worse by his voice modulator.

He looked down "A-are you going to hurt me too?" he whispered.

"Only if you anger me." He replied, and it was true—if the boy like any other soldier under his command displeased him, they'd be punished—most severely.

The shivered slightly, bringing his tiny legs up to his chest, wincing as an uncomfortable ache shot through his small form. "W-what's your name?" he asked.

"You will call me Vader." He replied.

"Vader sir, y-you can hurt me, I promise not to cry—just please don't give me anymore ouchies here." The boy whispered; a small hand moved to rest between his legs.

He panned his neck so that his black mask stared down at the boy. He recoiled back at the thought of ever sexually assaulting a child—he'd done many horrific things in his life but he always executed children as painlessly as he could, he couldn't comprehend how anyone could find a child attractive and hurt him like that—maybe that's what the general population thought about him, wondered how he could murder and torture without so much of a second thought.

"Are you in pain?" his voice wavered, he tried not to let his concern be known to the boy—he didn't want the boy to form an emotional tie to him, or any tie to him of that sort—but he needed to make sure that the boy was alright before he transferred him to family services. The last thing he needed was for the HoloNet to accuse him of raping children, that would truly wound the Empire—if the public had a weakness it was children.

He nodded "I got a big ouchie." The boy whispered.

He stared at the boy, he looked so young… he was no fool to the cruelty of slavers, he'd been a slave once before—but this children looked far too young to used like that, surely…"How old are you…?"

The boy thought on it for a moment before raising six fingers "I think I am six." He replied.

He was silent at that—six...

The boy bit his lip nervously "C-can I have a drink please Vader sir?"

He ignored him "Did those men cause that pain?" he pressed.

The boy nodded, suddenly tearful again "Ah huh, they were hurting Mummy, I told them to stop being mean and then they stopped hurting Mummy and hurt me." He quietly explained.

"How many were there?" he asked, he needed to know—he wasn't sure why, he just needed to know he'd slaughtered them all.

"I think seven." The boy confessed

He was silent once more.

"It might have been eight."

He looked at the boy once more, before picking up a datapad and typing in a quick order for a med droid. "You will be happy to hear that I killed everyone inside." He replied.

The boy tearfully starred at him and then at the datapad in suspicion "W-why would that make me happy?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"Because those men are dead." He replied.

The boy managed a tearful smile "it's okay Vader sir, I forgive them, I just want Daddy." He said.

He frowned, even now—after everything that had happened, this boy still yearned for his father—was willing to forgive such scum just for a chance to see his father, the boy was too forgiving—it utterly baffled and infuriated him. "Your father is not coming." He snapped.

The boy frowned "Why?" he asked.

He stared at the boy, his anger was bubbling and threatening to unleash itself at this child's naivety and utter cluelessness at his situation—his deadbeat father wasn't coming back for him, he couldn't understand was he continued to speak on it as if, he'd just show up and suddenly care, the boy's father was a terrible one. "Because he would have rescued you sooner, any father would have slaughtered anyone who lays a hand on their child." He sneered, cleanching his fists in frustration.

The boys lip wobbled once more "D-Daddy not coming for me?" he asked, as if he couldn't truly believe his father wasn't coming to get him—as if his entire psychology had been pulled into question—good, it was about time the boy grew up, let these phantom figures go.

"No."

"What will happen to me now?" the asked.

He stared at him and sighed; the sound sounded strange when filtered through his respirator. "You will be placed under Family Services custody until you are adopted." He explained.

"No!" the boy protested.

"It is not up for debate." He scolded

The boys lip wobbled, and his temper flared. "I said no! I want Mummy and Daddy!" he cried, unleashing a colossal tantrum.

He grabbed the boy roughly by the arm and shook him until his was quiet. "They are dead accept that!" he roared, finally loosing his temper with the boy.

The boy begun to cry huge sobs wrecked his small frame. "I don't want any more ouchies!" he sobbed

Vader silently seethed and decided to let the boy have his tantrum, he'd deal with him in the morning—make sure he never had another in his presence.

"My back hurts!" The boy cried

He cried until he tired himself out, his small form sat onto the floor, Vader moved to pick up the small bundle and place it back onto the bed.

Sleep eyes stared into hollow red lenses. "C-can I stay here?" he mumbled.

Vader placed him back onto the bed and pulled the over the small form—stepping back a comfortable distance he replied "No."

A small hand reached out and grabbed his own larger prosthetic one.

"G'night Daddy." He sleepily mumbled.

Vader was frozen.


	2. 02 Brightest Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is based off Laivaaja's A03 story "Imperial Babysitters" it's cute 17-chapter story where they have posted Luke/ Vader art, it's really good so I recommend checking it out. This one-shot is based off chapter 14 "Choose A Star" :)
> 
> As always I don't own Star Wars

He hadn't meant to intrude, it was supposed to be a simple mission—straight in and then out, a relay of information and mission logs, but he stood transfixed by the sight in front of him, a moment of upmost vulnerability. He knew he'd be executed if he was to be seen spying, but in front of him lie a scene so—Human? So pure, an exchange of love in the most paternal manner. It shouldn't have shaken him to his core so much, it was normal—a father doting on his son, he'd done it before with his own children. But this wasn't a normal person per say, this was is superior—this was Darth Vader known throughout the imperial academy and navy as the most feared man in the galaxy second only to the Emperor himself, to work such a man was a guaranteed death sentence and a promotion even more so. Darth Vader was known for executing officers and slaughtering anyone who stood in his way of enforcing the emperors will, renowned for fury and the mechanical rasp of his respirator, it was hard to ever imagine that there was a living breathing human being behind such a tormented existence, it unnerved him to his core to see him act so humane? Display an emotion so different from the fury he usually enforced.

He watched, transfixed as the small infant placed his cubby little hands upon the sides of Vader's mask. "Fafa." He mumbled, tracing small patterns over the mask with his tiny fingers; seemingly transfixed and mesmerised by the ridges and sharp lines.

The dark lords artificial red lenses looked up from his datapad to stare at the infant held securely in his arms. Such a stare would cause Piett to panic—go over in his head the multiple scenarios in which he'd displeased his superior and how he'd be executed for it—but not this infant, who's large blue eyes stared back into the mask in intrigue.

"Yes, little one I am your father." He heard Vader reply, tracing a gloved finger down the infant's cheek to gently caress his cubby chin.

The infant giggled and pressed a saliva covered hand onto the control box of his suit. But the dark lord didn't hesitate—officers had there windpipes crushed for so much as looking at it and here this infant could touch it without zero repercussions. "Heart, Fafa heart." He babbled.

For a moment he hesitated, Vader pulled the infants hand off him and gently held him so that his tiny arms wrapped around the dark lord's neck.

"Do you know how much I love you, Luke?... more than there are stars in this galaxy." He muttered to the infant. Piett found it frightening rather than endearing, here a tiny infant sat in the arms of the second most terrifying being in the galaxy and cooed as he professed his love for his son. It was such an unbelievable scene that he'd almost wondered if he were still asleep—it was so utterly inconceivable to imagine Darth Vader as having any other feelings other than resentment and rage, and yet, here he was behaving in such a human way. He almost felt ashamed for snooping, I felt as if he'd just invaded something private, walked in on something terrible, something he never should have seen, yet at the same time he couldn't bring himself to look away. He felt ashamed at seeing Vader at his weakest, all shields dropped, and animosity forgotten all so that he could see the beaming half toothed smile of the infant sat in his arms—no—not infant, Vader's son.

How was he conceived? was Darth Vader even able to conceive children? Surely, he was, otherwise this child would've never been born. It wasn't within Vader's character to ever bother himself with adopting a child but then again, he's never expected his superior to show such an affectionate display—He'd heard the rumours of Vader's rebirth. A man so horrifically scarred and mutilated, forced to wear a mask with a terrifying rasp because children wept at his face until there eyes bled.

"Swars?" Luke mumbled back.

Vader placed a gentle hand to the soft fragile nape of his son's neck and almost seemed to beam with pride. "You are such a clever little one." He praised, stroking the small head where white thin locks developed.

Luke leaned into the caress and cooed incoherently, saliva dribbled down his chin and pooled at his neck, soaking his clothing.

He continued to caress the locks "Pick any star and I will give it to you, little one. Choose them all if that is what you wish." Vader said through the harsh baritone of his voice modulator.

Luke beamed; his small teeth poked out from under his gums "Fafa swar." He babbled back, pointing a handout into the vast void of space, identifying the brightest star. "Dat swar Fafas!" he exclaimed.

Vader stared at the star for a moment, several rasps of his respirator were the only sound Piett heard. "No little one, that is not the star I've chosen." Vader replied.

Piett watched as Luke's lip wobbled "Fafa no swar?" he protested.

He pressed his mask against Luke's head as if to kiss it "You are my star Son, I cannot pick another, they are all dull in comparison to you." Vader explained.

Piett smiled and placed the stack of Datapads on a desk in front of the door, he'd outstayed his welcome. He quietly shuffled away and took one last look back at the scene behind him and froze, Luke's large blue eyes stared into his in curious wonder. He placed finger to his lips and quietly left.

His perspective forever changed.  
\----------------------------------------------

Just a little fluffy Oneshot, please do tell me what you thought of it, I do very much enjoy your feedback.


	3. 03 Baby Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains very dark imagery and themes read at your won risk.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, Kudos and bookmarked guest and user alike! :)

You were so beautiful….

“Mama Ryoo.” I smiled once and stared upon your perfect little features—from your ocean blue eyes to your perfect little button nose, so perfect. So fragile…

I couldn’t bear to let you go, my perfect little boy, so small and chubby your smile brightened up my whole world—made the pain I endured to birth you worth every second. 

I was transfixed by you—couldn’t believe that you were mine, every sudden movement, every noise made me fall in love with you a little more each day. 

We were so happy once…

I clutched you close to me, a terrifying hissing filled the room—a respirator, your father’s respirator. He’s stood in the doorway staring at us but the mask makes it impossible for me to understand how your father feels, he’s so close to me once more yet so very far away. He’s not the man i married—he became a monster, destroyed everything i held dear and murdered the man i loved and yet i yield to his wishes and find myself thoroughly incapable of rejecting his advances.

That is how you came into my life. At first I thought you were a cancer—a creature put inside me by a monster. I resented you, loathed the idea of having you growing in my body, a parasite— a leach. I’d hit you, starve you in an attempt to purge you from my body, but no amount of foreign chemicals would dislodge you from my womb. 

I thought i was dying, I’d screeched and howled so loud that i could be heard at the other end of the fortress. It was difficult—took days to birth you into this world, my genitals destroyed and body utterly exhausted and aching, I’d sat in my own blood and fluids and cried into a pillow as they took you from me. 

But the second they’d placed you in my arms I knew that I could never let you go. You were so perfect—suckling gently at the breast, your small warm body cooed and quivered against mine. You were mine. My baby—my son. Totally dependent on me. I wondered how anything so perfect, so innocent could ever be compared to a creature— ever come from the seed of a monster.

“Luke...oh Luke.” I’d whispered to your tiny form, tracing a large finger down your chubby cheek. 

You were everything my husband wasn’t, everything he used to be. And in that moment, i knew i had to keep you close to me—as a reminder, a last link to the man i used to love. I’d love you unconditionally until the day you died and beyond. I knew that so long as i had you with me, i could get through this—i could cope, i could survive...

But it was an accident. A cruel twist of fate which took you from me forever.

I’d woken up in a frenzy. Your small form is stiff and ice cold—one could almost compare you to Hoth. 

I’d clutched your rigid form close to me and wailed, your once beautiful, peaceful pale face now a horrific grey, your tiny thick lips now a permanent chapped blue—but you were so peaceful and for a second I’d almost believed you were sleeping, if not for your gaunt complexion.

“Oh no!—-h-he. Help me! Help!” I’d howled out in a breathless scream of animalistic sounds and panicked wails, resigning from the most deepest part of my heart— a distant throbbing made itself known in my heart— a stead jolt of pain ignited a fire within the deepest part of my core, burning an agonising ache from my heart to my eyes. I was numb, utterly empty as I held you close to me. 

I looked up through blurry emotionless eyes to see my handmaiden Sabe and 3P0, Sabe held herself against the doorframe in terror, her identical brown eyes scanned over my form to analyse the small blue bundle in my arms. 

“Mistress Padme is everything alright-“ 3P0 begun to speak, his monotonic cheerful voice only seemed to make the pain worse. 

I let out another string of unnatural sobs which bordered on gasping and retching. “M-my son!” I wailed. 

Sabe rushed to my side, offering a comforting embrace which I declined, I was too numb to accept comfort—not worthy of such a display. My boy was gone...

3P0 stood awkwardly in the doorway before his programming finally kicked in. “Oh dear, I shall fetch a physician.”

Sabe made a sudden move to take you from me, but my arms clutched you so tightly— my own tears burned my ducts as salty trails of heat landed onto your frozen form. “He’s cold—Oh kriff he’s so cold!” I cried out, rubbing your tiny frozen finger together in an attempt warm you. 

Sabe clutched my forearm and roughly pulled at me, but no amount of force would ever make me give you up. “Pass him to me, my lady, let me help you.” Sabe had whispered softly to me in an attempt to ease my hysteria. 

I wailed and placed your cold cheek against the crook of my neck— desperate to feel you cooing and dribbling once more. But nothing… i shook and patted your behind but nothing was making you move . “He’s not moving! Oh god, do something Sabe!” I hysterically shrieked. 

Sabe took your still form from my arms and gently placed you to the soft sheets of the bed. My eyes were transfixed on your peaceful face—I’d watch those perfect features collapse to bone and dust if it meant i could have you occupy that cold empty spot in my arms, which felt unnaturally vacant now

“Please Padme you have to calm down.” Sabe had whispered to me, placing a thin blanket over my shoulders and a glass of Coruscanti scotch in my hands. I carefully grasped the glass with shaky hands and took hungry gulps of scolding delicious nectar through hysterical retching, until my eyes stung and my throat was raw. 

“My analysis has revealed all vital signs to be negative. It appears he is dead.” Idiot barely heard the physician, it’s monotone robotic modulator was completely incapable of empathy— of suffering. 

The glass slipped from my fingers and crashed against the floor into a million tiny pieces. I placed a shaky hand to my mouth and screamed—salty tears burned at my tear ducts and stomach acid rose. Making me gurgle and retch. 

“I-i killed my Son…” I let out, watching through wet eyes and shaky hands as the droid carefully wrapped your body and took you from me. I couldn’t explain the pain, it was so unlike anything I’d ever felt before— an ice cold chill settled over my body and seemed to crawl over my bones to form a dull ever expanding ache— a chasm of grief which continuously stabbed a hole in my heart, a whole which lay forever empty accumulating in a singular feeling of shame and guilt.

I’d failed as a mother—I’d only had you for a couple of days and yet I’d failed, I’d killed my baby. 

“My lady it wasn’t your fault.” Sabe tried to reason, of course she did—but she wasn’t there, she didn’t see what she did. Oh god she’d smothered him— they’d all soon know and along with it they’d all gossip of her failure as a mother. They’d all know. 

She looked up at Sabe and managed a shaky, tearful smile “I shouldn’t have—have fallen asleep with him, i-i smothered him…” her voice wavered as the tears began to once again cascade down her face. 

He’d know—oh god her husband would soon know, she’d be punished, he’d hurt her again. Clutching the front of her nightgown firmly towards her chest she let out a panicked wail. She’d be pregnant again—she felt sick, couldn’t stomach the idea of having another child, what if she murdered that one too? Would her husband do it out of spite? Would he know how much the idea pained her? Was this the ultimate price to pay for her sin? Another permanent reminder of her failure? 

She’d never love it—couldn’t ever love it, it’d forever be tied to her and fester around her like an open wound. She couldn’t love it and she wouldn’t love him. 

Sabe enveloped her in a firm embrace, her face buried into her chest as she cried. Sabe traced calming patterns on her shoulders and back. 

But all of a sudden she stopped—froze up more like and that horrible incessant hissing was back again. That constant tick which played over and over again inside her head to near insanity. She froze up in Sabe’s arms, adrenaline and terror coursed through her blood and fueled the rigorous thumping of her heart against her rib cage—he said nothing. 

She looked up at the ominous black figure which stood deathly silent against the door panel—her husband forever gone. 

Her jaw tensed as she managed a teary terrified stare. “H-he is dead—I-I’m sorry..” she manger to articulate through sore and strained vocal cords. 

The ominous silhouette tilted itself helmet to stare in their direction, Sabe tightened her embrace ever so slightly. 

“I see.” She flinched as the harsh baritone voice flatly replied. Utterly devoid of emotion he just stared at her disheveled form, his bug eyes lenses hungrily stalked her every movement. 

She swallowed and turned to Sabe, she smiled and gestured towards the door. Sabe managed a comforting squeeze to her shoulder before making her leave. 

She turned back to the monster which was once her husband. “I-i woke up and—and he was gone.” She choked out. Her head throbbed from the pressure of holding in her tears, she hoped that—at least a little bit of her husband lay behind that mask, mainly the empathetic gentle kind she fell in love with, the type which would cry with her and tell her it was going to be alright—-but he just stared at her, remained completely motionless, his respirator was the only indication that he was still alive. 

“It is easily remedied.” He eventually replied, his large heavy durasteel boots trudged towards the door. She sat shocked to her core— he’d said nothing to her of it, didn’t try to understand her pain, her loss—only that they’d have more children…

She let out a cry— she didn’t understand—couldn’t understand why her heart throbbed ahe badly and her eyes watered so profusely, couldn’t understand how her husband could’ve changed so much—she didn’t like this cold empty man. “Wait!” She cried. 

His durasteel boots came to a halt, his back facing away from her. She stood up from the bed and managed to shuffle towards him. “I-i don’t understand—I-i killed him- w-why aren’t you angry?” She hiccuped out. 

He turned to face her trembling form “you did not kill him.” He replied. 

Her brow creased “I-i don’t understand, i fell asleep with him—i-i smothered our baby! Why're you so cold!” She cried out. 

“He died from SIDS, Padme now cease this grovelling immediately. He is dead, none of us can change that now, you of all people should be aware of that.” He hissed back, his respirator made a horrible sound between steam and something predatory. 

She recoiled back, SIDS? It couldn’t be, her boy was dead—she’d killed him, the physician ha—no! She couldn’t remember what he’d said, couldn’t comprehend losing him, being powerless to save him made the grief ten times worse. She’d rather be responsible for his death than live knowing that she slept as her baby boy passed away…

A horrible rage overcame her—bordering on panic and pure unfiltered anger, at herself or her husband she didn’t know—all she knew was that the words spilled from her lips before she could stop then and her hand was raised for attack. 

He caught her wrist in a crushing grip, she screaming against the hold “he is your son! How can you stand there and act as if—as if he meant nothing to you!” She cried. 

“He was barely a week old, he meant nothing. He wasn’t an asset to me yet, it is a shame, he had such promise.” He replied back. 

She lurched against his iron grip and spat up at the black mask “I hate you!” She hissed into red lenses. 

He released his grip before making his leave “Good.” He said back.   
—————————————  
But you’re here…

And you’re more perfect than I could ever imagine. You look so much like your father now that you’re older, you have his piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde hair…

You’re perfect. 

You’re everything i ever wanted, just like your father…

I smile up at you and pluck the flower from your small chubby hands.

Blue rigid hands, I’m screaming...you’re so very blue...like your eyes.

“That’s lovely Luke, thank you.” I place the flower onto the dresser and flinch up as i see your father—standing in that same doorway he did on that horrible day. 

I-i woke up and—and he was gone…

I manage a smile. 

“Who were you talking to?” He asks, I’ve gotten used to him now—even his voice doesn’t frighten me as much anymore, mainly because you’re right next to me. When you’re here, i can almost see past the mask and see the man I fell in love with, smiling back at me—almost. 

I smile “no one.” I reply. 

You are always perfect. And today you would’ve been four. 

Four, you’re getting so big! 

I left you a card and some presents, but you haven’t opened them. You never do—they’re in your room, still as pictine as it once was when you were there. 

If only I hadn’t smothered you, if only I’d put you to bed that day…

Pale blue face, hollow eyes staring back at me…

I meant to tell you! You’re a big boy now, but soon you’ll be a big brother. I’m going to name her Leia.

Luke and Leia…

She’ll be beautiful, but she’ll never be you.

And I promise, I won’t kill her like i did you…  
———————-


	4. 04 Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last episode of Star Wars the clone wars has officially ruined me as a person and made me cry so fucking hard. So here's me venting, enjoy.
> 
> I own nothing  
> Based off of the Darth Vader 2015 comics in which Vader hires Boba Fett to track down the rebel pilot who destroyed the death star.

He felt nothing, not even the harsh clank of metal beneath his durasteel boots. He couldn't bring himself to—wouldn't bring himself too, it was the price to pay for ruthless indignation—and yet, he often wondered, deep down inside what little was left of his corrupted soul, if the sacrifice had been worth it in the end.

The horrific rattle of his own breathing and claustrophobic hellscape of his suit told him otherwise—and yet a deep imprinted sorrow borrowed itself deep in his heart and set aflame his every thought with a ruthless reminder of images and sounds which looped him almost to insanity.

_Anakin_

He could vaguely remember the man, a handsome brunette whose naivety and strong heart had made him weak, in the end it was the last domino to fall in a chain of deep seated trauma and an unhealthy psych—he had to be destroyed if he was ever to feel human again, ever to swallow down the acidic guilt which scorched holes into his flesh and sawed into his bones all over again, in an infinite loop.

Anakin Skywalker was weak and he had destroyed him. As long as he remained Anakin he was susceptible to corruption and forced to admit he'd failed. He couldn't do that—couldn't admit the horror, couldn't ever heal his crumbling psych from the genocide he'd commited—some of whose victims screams stuck with him. And yet he'd never thought it was possible to dissociate from reality so completely and yet feel nothing in return. He was thoroughly convinced that if he'd remained Anakin he'd have long since gone insane, cracked under the pressure of association, and broken from desolation-he'd lost everybody.

Lost everything and he so desperately wanted it back. Wanted to _feel_ again, wanted to know what it felt like to touch another's flesh or feel the cool caress of artificial air against his flesh—he'd gone so long without it that he'd forgotten what it all felt like. He wanted his wife.

_Padme_

The scent of her floral perfume tormented his nostrils and appeared as a phantom only to ruthlessly thrust her memory into his fragile core over and over again until his mind screeched in frustration and overridden by grief. And once he'd howled out in anguish the scent of her vanished—replacing it with the horrific stench of his own roasted necrotic flesh, pulverising his nostrils and bringing tears to his eyes.

He'd kept her nightgown—it wasn't a sexual connotation he was far beyond such pleasures. He just missed her. In the early years of her passing he'd found himself talking to it like some thoroughly devoid madman. He knew she was gone from him forever—he was no fool, he'd murdered her afterall. Snuffed out her life and that of their child.

And with her gone, everything else in his life felt utterly meaningless—a machine without a purpose. An experiment in self control and scientific catastrophe, though no one would dare tell him that. He knew he was a freak of nature to everyone who laid eyes on him, he should've died the second Kenobi foolishly and indignantly left him the _roast alive._ And yet he'd risen above it, survived through the most horrific agony imaginable just so that he could live another day, just so Kenobi could feel his pain and once again look upon the monster _he'd created._

He should've died, _would've_ taken death anyday—in return he'd gotten something so much worse. Pure unadulterated suffering— claustrophobic misery, physical and mental. His existence was solitary confinement of the worst kind—a fallen knight desperate to sleep, yet unable to block out the horrific PTSD fuelled nightmares of suffering and destruction from his sick mind. Even after 20 years he could still feel the lava burning a hole into the festering wound of his broken mind.

_Race you to the top Skyguy!_

_Ahsoka_

He'd truly failed in that regard. He was furious at her in his own sick twisted way. Furious that she'd trived without him, furious that she'd survived the war without a scratch— _furious_ that she wanted what he couldn't provide.

She wanted things to go back to the way they'd used to be—she had made him _weak._ She turned her back on him, allowing him to lose everything. And in his own depressed and tormented state he'd have prefered her to have died along with the rest of his memories. And yet she'd returned to torment him with the prospect of what could've been—what'll _never_ be.

Their friendship had failed and in a way they'd both been to blame. The sooner she tossed aside childish ideals and thoughts of redemption—the easier it would be for her to see him for what he truly was— a Sith. Her master was dead and she couldn't save him, she'd do well to remember that.

He was irredeemable.

He was beyond saving.

There was no one out there in the galaxy who'd even dare to try.

His Comm beeped "Lord Vader, the bounty hunter from Ord Mantel has made contact."

"Send him in." he replied, shutting off the Comm. There was the faint sound of a door sliding open, his attention lay sorely fixated on the stars in front of him- so many lives lay before him and at one point the prospect of visiting every single star would've been his life's goal. It was a pointless endeavor, the dreams of a child who did not yet realise his importance.

The harsh mechanical rasp of his respirator was the only sound between himself and the bounty hunter he'd hired to capture the pilot who'd destroyed the death star. "Your report." he stated through a crude baritone modulator.

"I wasn't able to capture him." The bounty hunter replied.

There was a pause, a wheeze. "That is most disappointing," he replied.

"He got lucky. But I was able to get a name." It was better than nothing he supposed, a name would bring him exactly what he wanted-what he _craved_ to capture and torture the rebel pilot into submission, to send it and his mangled corpse back to the rebellion, one limb at a time until they finally realised that he couldn't be defeated, they wouldn't succeed and he _wouldn't_ fail his master again.

"Skywalker."

He was frozen, his cold empty core ached- _throbbed._ His breathing sped up in a malstrom of rage, the horrific rapsing and wheezing of his own breathing stalling and stopping again his it struggled to catch up with his rising hysteria. He'd been lied to- _Master had lied._ His fists clenched and his prosthetic joints cracked and bent in protest at the growing pressure.

"So, that'll be all then…?" The glass screeched and hissed in protest as tiny cracks formed all over the surface-with one last wheeze it gave way shattering shards, ricocheting off of walls and floors.

_Son_

_He had a son._

And that realisation filled him with hatred.

* * *


End file.
